


Fortune In Spades

by LittleMulattoKitten



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marriage Law AU, Peasant!Hermione, Tomione Smut Fest 2018, king!tom, regency au, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-15 13:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16064354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMulattoKitten/pseuds/LittleMulattoKitten
Summary: Hermione was supposed to be married or otherwise "contained" as a concubine by her twentieth birthday, like the rest of the female muggleborns and halfbloods in Britain. She was not supposed to teach herself magic in secret and hope that one muggleborn peasant was insignificant enough to go unnoticed. She never expected to end up escorted up to the castle to the King's study. Nor did she expect him to decide her fate personally.King Tom never expected to find his favorite kind of woman —clever, strongwilled, and powerful— in a muggleborn scullery maid who'd somehow mastered wandless casting without a tutor. Law-breaker or not, she didn't belong in the dungeons. She belonged at his feet. She belonged in his bed.She belonged tohim. He just had to show her.Written for Weestarmeggie's Tomione Smut Fest 2018.





	Fortune In Spades

**Author's Note:**

  * For [weestarmeggie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/weestarmeggie/gifts).



> Remember when Meggie said no plot? Aha. Ha. Haha.
> 
> I cut around it, but chances are I'll post an extended version at a later date that's less rushed, more refined, and features more of the plot I couldn't keep away. And probably more smut because well...I think you'll know by the end why I don't think Tom can keep his hands to himself xD
> 
> Enjoy the garbage!

“You’re quite a surprise, Miss Granger,” he said.

The warmth in his tone made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She didn’t believe it was genuine. Or if it was, there was surely an ulterior motive lurking below the surface.

“Do tell me how a muggleborn witch managed to gain such a commanding grasp of magic... _without_ a wand.”

She swallowed. “Books.”

“Books?” he echoed. “You mean to convince me that your talents are entirely self-taught?”

“Self-taught and the byproduct of innate competence, Your Majesty,” she said stiffly.

His eyes glittered, but whether they did so with amusement or danger, she was too nervous to tell.

The king hummed to himself, lifted a book from one end of his desk, and set it forward nearer to her. “Levitate it.”

The book rose above the desk before he finished enunciating the last syllable of “levitate”.

He eyed the book, his immense pleasure at her success as obvious as it was confounding. “There are...very _very_ few wizardfolk with any inclination towards the wandless arts, Miss Granger. Are you aware of this fact?” he asked.

“...Yes, Your Majesty.”

“And fewer still who can disassemble a ward or levitate so much as a feather steadily.”

“So I’ve read, Your Majesty.”

“And yet...a _muggleborn witch_ has done so effortlessly.”

She stayed quiet and studied the carpets again.

The king stood and rounded his desk until he was close enough to use one velvet-gloved hand to raise her chin. He was even more unsettling when thoroughly rooted in her personal space. “Defiant,” he murmured, his steady gaze piercing her own. “Stubborn. Willful. Sharp. A prodigy raised amongst peasants… You’re wasted as a scullery maid, Miss Granger. And several weeks past your containment deadline, I believe.”

She swallowed and refused to comment. She refused to admit that she’d ignored his nonsense laws that required her to marry or be taken in as some sort of concubine lest she face imprisonment and the notorious manners of the men he employed as guards for the muggleborn dungeons.

A small smirk tugged at the king’s lips before he dropped her chin and began to pace a slow circle around her. “You’ve denied every suit presented to you by your own companions and their families. You’ve denied the suits of strangers. You courted a Bulgarian wizard in your youth but chose to stay in England instead of accepting his suit and relocating to Bulgaria…” he mused. “Tell me, Miss Granger, what would it take to make you _accept_ an offer? I’m afraid the law states I throw you in the dungeons, but I find myself unwilling to subject such...raw magical prowess to the conditions usually reserved for common swine.”

“I…” her mind struggled to comb through the insult, compliment, and insinuation he’d presented. “I beg your pardon?” A beat too late, she added a half-hearted, “Your Majesty.”

He stopped in front of her and set his unwavering gaze on her again. “I’m offering you chance to avoid imprisonment, Miss Granger,” he said smoothly. “I’m curious as to the limits of your potential. If you prove to be...shall we say ‘beneficial’ to my interests, you may even find yourself by my side.”

Her ire rose. “You...you want me to be your concubine, Your Majesty?”

He smirked. “Your innocence and loyalty in exchange for teaching and _not_ being locked away with the rest of the muggleborn witches too stubborn to obey the law, yes.”

Hermione could feel her temper tingling in her cheeks.

“Take care in how you speak,” he warned, interrupting the beginning of a tirade that likely would have ended with an execution sentence. “I am admittedly fond of strong-willed women, Miss Granger, but only because I take great pleasure in teaching you your place.”

He stepped forward and brushed a gloved thumb over her cheek as she tried to swallow her pride. When he leaned in to whisper against her ear, she went still.

“ _Please me and I’ll teach you everything I know._ ”

She swallowed, her calming breath unsteady. Prison would undoubtedly lead to abuses beyond her imagination. She’d met women who’d escaped. Some were taken as wives by the guards. Some wound up filling vacancies in brothels and whore houses all over the country.

Would it be worse to be known by one man in exchange for the knowledge and training she craved or to join the scores of broken “mudblood whores” in the dungeons?

Tears —either of shame or resignation, she did not know— burned the edges of her eyes.

“A simple yes or no will suffice, Miss Granger,” he murmured. His breath was warm against her neck and caused her to shudder.

“His Majesty is...most generous,” she said slowly, forcing the words past her teeth. “I...I accept.”

Warm lips brushed against her neck briefly before he leaned back to meet her gaze. “Do not fall into despair, my dear. Behind closed doors, let your flames burn bright. Complacent women bore me.”

He gaze flicked downward briefly when goosebumps rose on her skin and when he returned his attention away from her unwanted reaction, the king was smirking again.

“A woman’s magic shifts after she’s known a man,” he said softly. “Yours has yet to undergo such a metamorphosis. Tell me, Miss Granger, just how _familiar_ did you allow your Bulgarian to become?”

Heat seared her cheeks and she looked away, caught somewhere between ashamed and embarrassed. “I...doubt my limited experience would even be _considered_ experience to His Majesty,” she murmured.

His thoughtful hum was lower, almost a growl, and sent a jolt down her spine. She couldn’t decide if she was afraid or aroused by his tangible pleasure at her admittance.

“It seems magic isn’t all that I will teach you,” he mused. “Let’s start with something simple.”

He held out a hand and she set her own trembling fingers against the dark blue velvet as he led her behind his desk. Once the chair had been pulled back, leaving ample room for her to stand before him, he sat and leisurely removed his gloves.

“Sit,” he ordered. When she didn’t move, he raised a brow and she got the distinct impression he was amused again. “Oh don’t tell me you managed to find the one gentleman amongst the gaggle of ambassadors and their guests, my dear. I’ll scarcely believe you.”

When she remained stubbornly silent, he exhaled a chuckle. “You’re just the gift that continues to give, aren’t you? Come here. And stop tensing so. You’ll hardly be comfortable for long in such a state.”

Hermione blushed furiously as he guided her into his lap, first showing her how she was to sit if he summoned her to him while any of his cabinet were present —sideways with her legs together or crossed and her head over his heart, or elsewhere on the left side of his chest— then how he expected her to place herself if he summoned her near when they were alone —her legs on either side of his waist, straddling him, and either sat up awaiting instruction or laying against his chest if he wasn’t quite ready to focus on her presence. All of it made her heart pound in her chest.

Some of it sent heat singing through her veins without her consent.

Once she finally managed to relax in her secondary position, a smooth, ungloved hand cupped her cheek and pulled her closer.

His lips were softer than Viktor’s. As were his hands.

He tasted like tea.

Her head was swimming when he finally pulled back, marginally more breathless than she was. Somehow his eyes seemed darker than they had moments before. A dry chuckle escaped him.

“You defy logic at every turn, Miss Granger. I’m struggling to wrap my head around how a virgin managed to find a gentleman amongst near-savages with her mind sharper than any blacksmith’s steel and a tongue sweeter than any whore’s.”

She flushed again and he surprised her with a softer, gentler kiss as he took one of her hands in his. When he pressed her palm against his trousers, she jumped, an undignified squeak leaving her throat.

“You’re used to learning from books,” the king said. “However, there are some things that require a practical application to learn effectively. My body, and yours, are your first sources of study. Unless I’m answering summons I cannot ignore or push off, then I’ll be teaching you. I have rules. Some of them are for your well being. Some of them are for my pleasure. You will follow all of them. Should you fail, you’re to inform me. Once you’ve learned your boundaries, the punishments for failing to follow your rules will become more severe. You’re a quick study, Miss Granger. I suggest you apply that to this facet of your education as well.”

She nodded, not trusting her voice, and he continued speaking.

“I’m curious to see how much you’ll learn in your first three days. We’ll leave this room, my study, shortly and retire to my chambers. That is where you will remain until I give you permission to roam otherwise. When I am away and haven’t given you a task of some kind to complete, my antechamber, personal library, balcony, and bedroom are yours to wander as you see fit. All assignments and tasks are to be completed before you engage in your leisurely activities. I may return unexpectedly and interrupt whatever it is I’ve given you to work on. You will follow these whims should they arise. I’ll give you time to continue your assignments at a later date, if necessary.” He paused briefly to make sure she was still following him, then raised a brow. “Once I’m satisfied with your progress concerning your _physical_ education, I will begin assessing the limits of your magical knowledge. But I wish for one thing to be perfectly clear: The first time you lay beneath me will not be by force. Keeping your brilliant mind sane and you magic controlled is much of what sparked my decision to spare you from the dungeons…”

He smirked at her, dark eyes glittering. “Though I’d hardly be surprised if you gave yourself to me tonight. Ardent souls aren’t meant to restrain their magic, it exacerbates tension. And you, my sweet, are far too amorous to simply be another virgin witch.”

“His Majesty is as bold as he is self-assured,” she muttered.

“And you, _Lady Hermione_ , have much to learn…” he purred. “Come along. There are far more comfortable places to continue your...lesson.”

* * *

 

His rooms were finer than anything she’d ever seen. Thick, dark blue sheets lined the bed, along with thick blankets of dark blue, black, and grey. Her head spun as she tried to calculate how much it would’ve cost to purchase the large fur blanket atop the other layers on his bed, nevermind the volume of dye it must have taken to make every inch of plush softness the same dark blue as the sheets. The rugs, curtains, and other accents were also dark blue, while the dark grey stained furniture and walls made the space seem colder than it was.

His Majesty stayed by the main doors, a silent specter, as she hesitantly ventured into the room. She shivered as she ghosted her fingers over the surface of his masterfully-carved chest of drawers. When warm hands gently rubbed warmth into her upper arms, she jumped, having not heard him follow her.

“I’ve seen your home,” he said, his voice soft. “Squalor is beneath you now, my sweet. You will adjust at the pace I set for you. By the time the first snows land, you’ll be able to comfortably stomach rich suppers and sit by my side in silks and furs.”

He dropped a kiss to her neck again.

“For all we know, you may exceed my expectations by leaps and bounds…”

Hermione swallowed, certain that her next words would lead to trouble, but needing to say them. “His Majesty’s words are as seductive as any poet’s, but few kings would crown a concubine.”

The word tasted sour on her tongue. She was a witch. A scullery maid who worked for what she wanted. And, apparently, some sort of prodigy despite her inferior birth.

His hands moved from her arms to snake around her waist. Once she was flush against him, he spoke. “Concubines aren’t given respectable titles. If you’re addressed by anything other than Lady Granger outside of these rooms, you’re to inform me immediately.” She shuddered again at the fierceness in his tone. “If you wish for some of the staff to address you with more familiarity, remember that your new rank is not to be ignored. I will likely address you as Lady Hermione, or my sweet, or my Hermione, but no one else is to disregard your rank when speaking with you.”

Her head started to swim, but she couldn’t tell whether it was from shock or the feather-light kisses he was trailing from her temple to her throat.

“You’re overwhelmed,” he murmured. “Your second lesson will be learning how to shut out your mind to focus solely on what I instruct you too.”

Hermione tried to wrap her mind around the concept, but found she couldn’t envision herself without her mind constantly digesting some problem or another. “I’ve never possessed the ability to focus only on one thing, Your Majesty…”

“A byproduct of your thirst for knowledge, I’d wager,” he said. “But a mind that never rests is inflexible. You put yourself at risk in such a state and it is part of why you, clearly, shut down when faced with too much information to process at one time.”

The hands around her waist urged her to turn around and face him. His gaze was calculating when she hesitantly obeyed the silent command. After a moment, he pulled her towards the small sitting area before the hearth to the left of the bed, and sat in one of the plush chairs.

She fidgeted, unsure if she was meant to sit atop his lap again or await his next order.

A pleased hum escaped him a few beats later. “Fortune is far too kind,” he murmured. “A witch of her own mind with instincts to rival a fully trained mistress. Are you to be the end of me, Miss Granger?”

She blinked, startled. “I-I don’t understand…” she stammered. Surely he didn’t think she intended to commit treason? Granted, she’d been raised amongst some of his most avid critics, but she wasn’t brave enough to contemplate regicide, never mind following through with the act.

He smiled at her quickly rising panic. Unlike his smirk, the expression was warm. Genuine.

“Sweet girl,” he murmured. “Is this why the Bulgarian was on his best behavior? Even I hesitate at the thought of corrupting such a pure mind. But only for a moment… On your knees, sweet one.”

Her cheeks burned as she carefully kneeled at his feet and she quickly looked away when he spread his legs.

“Closer…” he beckoned. “Mutual pleasure is so damningly difficult to maintain when one partner lacks assurance in their own approach. If a blush stains your cheeks, it should be from desire and anticipation, not embarrassment or shame.”

She was trembling long before she was where he instructed  — close enough for him to cup her cheek without shifting positions. Close enough to rest either cheek against his thighs, which he commanded her to do until she relaxed. Even once she had managed to relaxher muscles, she trembled.

“Going into a new situation blind upsets you,” the king observed. “Unsurprising, given what I know of your mannerisms. Consider this training, my sweet. This is your time to learn, not to fret. I don’t expect expertise from a woman half petrified by being as close to a fully clothed cock as you are now.”

She had to shift on her knees in an attempt to relieve some of her growing discomfort, but it didn’t seem to help. His words were crass and only seemed to worsen her awareness of her pulse in places she wasn’t used to noticing.

The king pulled a silver pocket watch from his vest pocket as his other hand gently stroked over her hair and down one side of her face. “By the end of the next quarter-hour, my cock will be in your uncharacteristically quiet mouth. Make peace with that in your mind now. From that point forward, any wandering your mind does will earn you strikes. For every three strikes, you’ll earn a punishment to be carried out before we retire later this evening. Once you’re more familiar with your rules, the strike system will no longer apply and transgressions will be punished at my discretion. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her mouth dry and cheeks aflame.

“Good. Because you’re still much too far away for my liking.”

He returned the watch to his pocket as the fingers of his other hand threaded into her hair and pulled her forward so her face was flush against the placket of his trousers. Hermione was acutely aware of how few layers of fabric lay between her and something no book had prepared her for.

She flicked wild eyes up towards the king when he didn’t let her pull away and shuddered when he gaze darkened almost instantly.

“And here I thought you were afraid,” he purred. “Unsure of yourself, certainly, but no. You’re not quivering at my feet in fear at all, are you, sweet one?”

She didn’t know and couldn’t make her voice obey her to tell him.

“No…” he murmured. “You’ve never felt this strongly before, have you?”

She shook her head minutely.

With a low growl that sent a jolt down her spine, the king used her hair to pull her mouth up to his own. She could hear the buttons of his placket as acutely as she could feel magic in the air between them.

He wasn’t as gentle with her this time, nipping at her lips between kisses and tugging at the roots of her hair almost too tightly. When he pulled back, his breaths were hard and shallow.

His thumb ghosted first across her cheek, then her lips. “Open.”

She obeyed. The pad of his thumb rested against her tongue.

“Suck.”

Trying to quell her shyness and painfully obvious inexperience, Hermione hesitantly did as she was told.

His eyes glittered at her with amusement again. “I’m hardly made of porcelain. Harder...that’s better. Now relax. You’ve knotted up again.”

A few more gentle instructions followed, until his thumb was slick and felt less foreign against her tongue. Without warning, he pulled the digit away and set two fingers against her lips.

“Again.”

She wasn’t thinking far enough ahead to account for the difference in length of her new ‘sources of study’, and choked herself by accident. He didn’t let her pull far enough away for his fingers so leave her mouth.

“Mind over matter,” he said. “Any obstruction is temporary. You’re not going to suffocate. We’ll go slowly. I want you to try to relax your throat.”

Her eyes stung with tears after several failed attempts, but she did start to figure out how to resist the reflex to choke. The king chuckled low in his throat the third time he slid his fingers against the back of her throat without her jerking away.

“Clever, clever girl,” he praised. “And your spinning thoughts have slowed, haven’t they?”

She flushed and nodded.

“Do you remember what I told you earlier?”

“Y...yes,” she murmured.

“Tell me.”

She swallowed tightly. “T-that your...your…”

She tried to look away, embarrassed by her inability to speak, but he didn’t let her. He _did_ , however, chuckle at her expense.

“That my cock would be in your sweet little mouth, yes,” he said, ignoring the quiet squeak that escaped her at the words. “By the end of quarter-hour. And…” he briefly checked his watch again, then hummed with satisfaction. “My my. More than five whole minutes to spare.”

A dissociated sort of pride swept through her and she managed a small smile. He returned it fondly.

“Yes, my sweet one, you should be proud of yourself. You’ve pleased me greatly, and you haven’t even completed your lesson.”

She flushed at the pride in his voice.

He chuckled again as he leaned down to drop a kiss on her lips. “Open.”

The king guided his cock between her soft lips slowly, watching her expression as she figured out how best to apply her new skills to the unfamiliar object. He let her fumble without correction for a few moments, content to let her get her bearings without his aid for the time being. Her slick lips and unsure tongue were, perhaps, more enjoyable than his experiences with the last whore to wrap her mouth around him.

So he watched her, content and somewhat entertained by her naivety. When she slowed her steady motions long enough to flick her dark eyes up to his own, he merely raised a brow. He should’ve expected the fire that built in her eyes. He should’ve expected her to realize that she, technically, had the upper hand.

But none of those realizations struck him until she slid down his length again, her throat relaxed enough to take him fully as her lips wrapped snugly around him. She hollowed her cheeks on the way down and he hissed in surprise long before his cock slid down her throat.

She pulled back just enough to breathe and watched his reaction, mischief dancing in her eyes for the first time since she’d entered his study.

“Mind of a scholar, spirit of a whore,” he growled. “Again, witch.”

She quickly fell into a tormenting rhythm that did nothing but reinforce his decision to keep the little minx out of the dungeons. Tom threaded his fingers through her hair, spelling pins out of the dark locks as he went until the braided and bound mass of curls started to fall apart. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head as he fisted his hands at her roots and pulled her up.  

He watched her eyes lower as her confidence fell away and groaned as he placed a kiss on her forehead.

What sort of temptress would he have on his hands once he'd taught her how to please him fully?

His cock twitched at the thought.

But first he needed to pull his little witch out of her nervous little head and back into his bedchamber.

“Enough of that,” he scolded gently, brushing a thumb against one of her flushed cheeks. “You’re a quick study, my dear. Do not let your nerves distract you.”

She nodded, somewhat distracted, and her fidgeting made him dizzy with anticipation.

“It’s a pleasant sort of discomfort, isn’t it?”

She blinked at him with wide eyes and nodded shyly.

“Shall I make the ache go away?”

She swallowed and licked her dry lips. “I...I don’t know what I’m asking for, Your Majesty,” she murmured.

“I think you do, darling,” he said. “If you wish to progress with your lesson, rise so that I can help you out of your dress. If not, then continue as you were. Your smart mouth had certainly found a pleasant rhythm before I stopped you.”

An age passed in the few moments it took her to decide where Tom hoped more than anything that the little witch wouldn’t shut down in panic and fear before she managed to decide.

When she stood on trembling legs, her name fell from his lips like a prayer.

He’d make a queen out of her in time. But first, he’d make her a proper woman.

He cast four wandless spells in quick succession. The first loosened her clothing and made it all pool at her feet. The second was a gentle warming charm for her comfort. The third was a contraception charm. The fourth would make her first time painless.

Before he had a chance to cast a fifth, his clothing and most of the ornaments he typically wore vanished from his person only to reappear atop the chest at the end of his bed, fold itself, and go still. The only jewelry left was his family ring on his left thumb.

Hermione had politely and unnecessarily averted her gaze, but didn’t hide the smile smirk tugging at her lips. Tom stood, grinning wolfishly, and pulled their hips flush together before kissing her cheek.

She was the best gamble he’d made in years by far.

“To bed, clever girl. I want to make you scream for me.”

Her shyness was still present, but it seemed she’d come to terms with it enough to focus on _feeling_. On _learning_ all that he had to teach her. And while she learned from him, he learned _her_.

He learned where to touch, tease, nip, lick, and breathe to make her squirm. He took his time trying to decide which breast felt softer against his lips and which tasted sweet on his tongue. (His experimentation, while quite thorough, proved inconclusive and he decided to conduct further study in the near future.)

He was finally giving in to her desperate pleas for _more_ when he gently slid two fingers inside her, but this time his breathing stuttered as well.

“More?” he asked roughly.

“ _Please_.”

He slid into her as he buried his face against her neck and basked in the scent of the sweet oils in her hair. His eyes rolled as she tightened around him at the intrusion, curses tumbling from his lips as she squirmed and adjusted to the new sensation.

Tom pulled back far enough to make sure she was alright before dropping a kiss first to her forehead, then her lips.  When she continued to squirm, which was slowly driving him mad, he raised a brow at her.

Blushing, she muttered something about an ache she couldn’t name that wouldn’t go away.

He took her lips again. “I’ll make it better,” he promised, smirking when she protested against his hips drawing away. A sound caught between a chuckle and a moan escaped him when he thrust back inside her and muffled her whimpers with his tongue.

His tempo was slow and hard at first, until he was certain she could handle more. The first time she shattered around him, he held her tighter and changed the angle of their hips until her cries were indiscernible. The second time was nearly his undoing. The third surprised them both and sent him over the edge.

She was an overwhelmed, trembling, whimpering mess of aftershocks when he caught his breath enough to flip them over. Once he’d tucked her against his chest, he summoned the blankets and kissed her hair.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured. “Rest, little witch. You’ve earned it.”

He drew absent minded shapes along her back long after her breathing finally slowed and the trembling left her limbs.

She was more perfect than he imagined she would be. He considering rewarding her with early magic lessons after a kip and supper. He wondered if using magic would stir the underfed amorous fire she kept hidden beneath the surface. He hoped it would.

She was a gamble, there was no doubt. But he hadn’t been expecting to win so thoroughly.

And if she was sore when she awoke, too sore to go again, well...he had a spell for that. 


End file.
